Millennials Say the Darndest Things

PrintWe’re at it again! Unfortunately, not much time has passed since I wrote the first part of this post, and it’s really taken no time at all to find material for an additional three! We say crazy things on the train, on the phone, while crying on a park bench….at least our generational filter seems to be quite clear! Look, I’m the first to be self-deprecating and admit that I talk without thinking…and sure, I can be a little over the top (cough cough…) but come on people. Even I know that talking at top-voice about “How ridiculous Mel is, even though she’s like my best friend” is exactly why the eye-roll was invented.

Anyway, here are a few gems I heard recently, presented without context, because who needs that? Just blindly judge these ridiculous people like I do. Because I’m allowed. Because I’m young and the world revolves around me….right??

  • “He has two internships-one of which is unpaid. It’s like, when is he going to realize he needs to go work at a Starbucks or something?”
  • “I don’t know his sister, I don’t know his sister’s girlfriend, and I don’t want to do saki bombs with them on Thursday!”
  • “That’s the problem with brunch with him. You’re trying to prepare for the week and wind down and he’s being a f-ing terror. Like I’m just trying to find a second to take a bath!”
  • “My sister has such good ponytail face and I really do not.”
  • “I love her, don’t get me wrong, like it’s fine, but she just thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

#pleaseshutup #ialsodonothavegoodponytailface

A Clean Home is a Happy Home

PrintI tend to skew towards the tidy side—some may say I’m a bit of a ‘neat-freak’—but I like a clean space! I grew up in a clean house, and have carried over many of those habits, like making my bed every day and straightening up before work so I can come home to an orderly apartment! It was lovely to come home from my three-day weekend to find a model apartment with nary a crumb in sight! And call me crazy (I’ve heard it before….), but who doesn’t love the smell of a freshly vacuumed rug? If I wore perfume, it would most likely be “Eau de Clorox Wipes.”

As a single person living in a studio apartment, you would think it wouldn’t be that difficult to keep everything clean. No roommates to deal with, only my own stuff to handle. But I find myself constantly picking up, decluttering, sweeping, wiping, mopping and vacuuming the 20×20 space I call home! Sometimes I will stand at my stove boiling water and become distracted by the grease stain on the back burner. Then I’ll be lured in by the grime that’s built up on the window frame, which leads to a full kitchen scrub. And obviously you can’t clean one room without cleaning the other two, so before long, I’m elbow-deep in suds while my pasta boils over and turns into a starchy lump….which I then have to clean up.

Sometime I wonder what it would be like if I just “let it go.” Left the crumbs on the rug and the strands of hair in the sink, the clothes unfolded, the shoes piled by the door…UGH I CAN’T! If anyone needs me, I’m scrubbing down my desk, to tie me over until tonight! The mop awaits!

What’s My Age: A 65-year old veteran cleaning lady. 

Snoozin’

PrintWhen I was in college, I used to consider myself a “morning person,” mostly because I could never sleep past 9 am, which in college, is basically unheard of. I spent many weekends waiting around for my friends to rise from their dorm rooms, before meeting to get brunch at 4 PM. I liked that I was productive during the day and would always say how much I loved mornings, much to the chagrin of…well, everyone.

Fast forward to the day after I graduated from college, when I actually needed to be up and productive in the am hours, and it was literally the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. And four years in the workforce has done nothing to turn me back into the morning person I so briefly was! I can count on a single hand when I’ve gotten up when my alarm goes off, and probably on a single finger a time I’ve willingly gotten up beforehand. I just hate waking up early/on time/at all. Why can’t I live the life of a grand dame, who lazes in her canopy bed until mid-morning, before swathing herself in a silk kimono and dining on her chaise lounge with the morning papers? Why is that not a possibility for me??

I’ve been trying recently to “train” myself to get up earlier, or at least wake up so I actually get up when I’m supposed to. So far…not great. The other day, I set my alarm for an hour earlier than usual, and literally slept straight through it, before oversleeping by a half hour. But all this “training” will come in handy tomorrow, when I need to be at work by 7 am. Why??? And is it too early to hit the sack???

What’s My Age: A grumpy 16-year-old/85-year-old lady in mind…a 26-year-old who needs to get to work in body. 

Bike Room Banishment

PrintLast week, the most ridiculous thing in the history of ridiculousness happened to me at work:

I was banned from the bike room.

Yep, you read that right. Two weeks ago, I rode my bike to work, and then because of weather and various work commitments, was unable to ride it back home. No big deal, right? Well, apparently, it’s an extremely big deal. Despite any signage to the contrary, it’s against the (unposted) rules to leave your bike for longer than 24 hours, at which time the bike police descend upon this room, review security camera footage, parse through id card scanning logs, and wrap a ridiculously large chain around your bike, completely defeating the purpose of allowing you to actually REMOVE THE BIKE.

First of all… SOOOOOOOOO RIDICULOUS. …Breath…. Second of all…I work in a place that sends out weekly newsletters with tips for getting more exercise at work and healthy meal suggestions. There is a SEPARATE VENDING MACHINE with healthy and unhealthy snack options.  WE HAVE A COMPANY WALKING CLUB. THAT MEETS DURING OFFICE HOURS. You would think they would be applauding me for riding my bike to work! I’m exercising! I’m saving the planet! What else do you want from me?!

Apparently, to have my bike removed by 5 PM EST, or further disciplinary action will be taken.

What’s My Age: 12, when I got my first detention. 

I Think I’ll Just Listen to Music and Cry–Thursday Edition

PrintI’ve been in a bit of a slump this week—I’m bored at work, the weather stinks and I’m just in a weird mood. This morning I woke up at my normal time and was so unmotivated that I didn’t even turn off my obnoxious phone alarm for a full 10 minutes. I still have a headache from it.

Now as much as I would like to participate in the “rut-busting” activities I have listed in a word document on my computer, or read through the “positive affirmations” memo on my cell phone, I’m finding it much easier to just listen to depressing music and feel sorry for myself.

Here’s a life-tip from yours truly: If you’re already sad for no apparent reason and want to drain your tear ducts out in 10 seconds flat, listen to the song “Bookends” by Simon and Garfunkel. And then listen to it 500 more times before curling up in a ball and pondering your place in the world. (Like I did last night….cough cough).

Maybe some better-adjusted people would listen to this song and think, “O, that is a sad song,” and then listen to Beyoncé.  Or they’d ponder the lyrics: “Time it was, and what a time it was, it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences,” and think, “I’m not really relating to this because I’m 26 and most definitely do not have the regrets they’re referring to here.” And then you would think, “How can someone listen to a song 500 times in a row?”

But you won’t even get through those thoughts because after that opening guitar riff, you will be a weepy mess. And you can join me under the cover while I press “play” one more time!

What’s My Age: 26 in 1968, when this song was actually popular. 

A Not-So-Exciting Night Out

2In case you need a reminder of my social lameness previously posted on this blog, (see: band, joining; knitting, learning; old-lady, being), I am not much of a party person. Of course, I don’t pretend to be a socialite or even someone who enjoys bouncing from “cloob to cloob” (as the cool kids say…). Instead, I’m content to lead a life of moderate chicness, with the occasional outing to say, a hookah bar if I’m feeling especially scandalous.

But every one in a while, I find myself in a very trendy restaurant, acting overly hip and drinking an obscenely expensive cocktail. A while ago, a good friend was visiting from California so a bunch of us met up for dinner to catch up and embrace our youth.

This is what we talked about:

  • How tired we were
  • The weather
  • Getting Botox in our foreheads
  • Finding grey hair
  • The need to purchase a white noise machine for better sleep
  • Doing our taxes

Mind you, we are all a group of successful young people with interesting jobs, 90% of us living in “the most exciting city in the world.” Hey, at least I’m not alone in my propensity for how the older half lives!

What’s My Age: 47; 3 margaritas apiece bumped us back into 23-25 range.

Plugged

PrintI come from a rather esteemed lineage of excessive talkers. My mother is the queen of rapid-fire chatter, and there have been times where I’ve felt I could put the phone down, take a stroll around the block, and come back before she’s finished a story. (Of course, this is something I’ve never done….love ya Mom!) But, along with some of my mother’s best qualities, (our shared love of turtlenecks, for example…) I seem to have inherited this one as well.

Now I know that I can get a little chatty, especially in situations where there is a threat of awkward silence, and for the most part, people don’t seem to mind my musings! But one particular coworker chose a different tactic than the “smile and nod” that I usually deploy with my mom and actually put his headphones in in the middle of an (admittedly) one-sided conversation! There we were, sitting in a cab, me blathering on about the weather or some other fail-safe silence-filler, when he suddenly decided to listen to rain forest sounds, or whatever other type of white noise that sufficiently tuned me out!

Well obviously, I shut down my vocal monologue and proceeded to have an inner one instead, which went something like, “OMG! RUDE. RUDDDDEEEEEEEEEE. Well, fine, if he doesn’t want to talk, I will sit in silence for the rest of the trip in protest! …Ok, seems like he still does not want to talk. Fight the urge to speak! Feel the weight of awkwardness descend upon this vehicle and EMBRACE IT!”

Let me tell you, it was the longest cab ride of my entire life! So of course I needed to share it with everyone I encountered for the rest of the day.

What’s My Age: 1, when babies start discovering the sound of their own voices and babble endlessly.